


Muddy

by syriala



Series: Inktober for Writers 2018 [23]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Werewolf Pain-Relief Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syriala/pseuds/syriala
Summary: Stiles flopped down on his bed the second he came home. His head was killing him, and he wouldn’t stay up another second, homework be damned. Stiles had just thought that, as painful as thinking was, when he heard his window slide open.





	Muddy

Stiles flopped down on his bed the second he came home. His head was killing him, and he wouldn’t stay up another second, homework be damned.

Stiles didn’t often get migraines, but when he did they were excruciating and he would trade them for a fight with the monster of the week every day just to escape this incapacitating pain.

Stiles let out a pitiful groan when he remembered that his ice pack was still downstairs.

He absolutely had to get up again to get it, because that was the only thing that worked. Not even painkillers were as effective as his trusted ice pack. He put it on his forehead, sometimes over his eyes and he had fallen asleep like that more than once, despite the still lingering pain. And every time he woke up, he was feeling so much better.

But his thoughts were already muddy and slow, scattering all over the place, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he would make it downstairs at all. He felt sick just opening his eyes and taking the stairs down was probably not the best idea in his state. He was a walking accident on his best days, there was no telling what might happen if he attempted the walk now.

Maybe he could at least take some pain killers and hope for the best.

Stiles had just thought that, as painful as thinking was, when he heard his window slide open.

“Ugh,” Stiles said, with less emphasis than he had intended, because he had asked for an exchange of monster of the week for migraine. Not both at once.

“I can’t, whatever it is,” Stiles mumbled, curling into himself, and very pointedly not even opening his eyes.

“You can’t have me check up on you?” Peter asked, and Stiles could just imagine his raised eyebrow. It was mocking him even without seeing the visual proof of it.

“Yes,” Stiles gave back, not even really remembering what Peter had asked, because the pain was making everything dizzy.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, his voice suddenly a lot closer and Stiles pressed his face into his pillow.

“Migraine,” he said and startled slightly when Peter grabbed his wrist.

“I won’t be able to take so much pain to relieve you completely of it,” Peter said apologetically, and Stiles sighed when the pain started to recede.

“That’s fine,” he gave back and uncurled a little, already feeling better, though his head was still throbbing in time with his pulse.

“What do you need?” Peter asked, and Stiles knew he would go and do whatever it was that Stiles needed.

He wasn’t quite sure when he had become so important to Peter, but he didn’t mind at all, and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t move heaven and earth for Peter, too.

“My ice pack,” Stiles mumbled, and Peter squeezed his wrist.

“Stay right here, I’ll be back in a sec,” he said and then left, his preternaturally warm hand leaving Stiles’ wrist and allowing the pain to build up again.

The dizzy feeling was back by the time Peter returned and Stiles groaned appreciatively when Peter gently put the ice pack to his forehead. The cold promised almost instant relief and Stiles melted into the bed.

“Do you need anything else?” Peter asked, and while it was on the tip of Stiles’ tongue to ask for cuddles, he swallowed that answer down.

He wasn’t really sure where they stood in their friendship, or relationship as Stiles hoped, but he was pretty sure that cuddling wasn’t on the table.

“No, I’m fine,” Stiles said instead and when Peter stayed silent for just a beat too long, Stiles carefully cracked an eye open, only to be met with Peter’s disappointed face.

“You want to try that again, this time maybe without the lie?” Peter asked him, and Stiles refrained from rolling his eyes, but only because it would hurt himself.

Derek had sworn up and down that Stiles’ heart never skipped a beat when he lied, that his body gave no physical sign of a lie, and yet, Peter could always, always tell. No one knew how that worked, or why it was only ever Peter who knew, but he always accurately called Stiles out on even the smallest of lies.

“Not really,” Stiles mumbled in response to Peter’s question and Peter sighed.

“Come on, darling, I thought we were better than this,” Peter softly said and stepped forward to gently push his fingers through Stiles’ hair and lightly scratch his scalp.

“I wouldn’t mind some cuddles,” Stiles mumbled, face heating with his embarrassment, which wasn’t helping his migraine at all, but Peter’s fingers in his hair just felt so damn good.

“Sweetheart, you only ever have to ask,” Peter said, bending down to take his shoes off and then he nudged Stiles, so he would scoot over, and make some space for Peter.

He slid in behind Stiles, curling his arms around Stiles’ middle and pulling him close to his body. Stiles went easily, pressing back as much as he could, and he sighed softly when Peter nosed at his neck.

“Sleep, darling,” Peter mumbled.

Stiles wanted to tell him that he usually couldn’t, with a migraine like this, but Peter’s warmth and the cold of the ice pack, plus the magic of Peter’s pain draining hand on his stomach, lulled him to sleep before Stiles could even think to form the words.


End file.
